The dusk settled over the farmstead in a slow, smoky hush. The fields were already asleep, their golden heads bowed in the dim afterglow of the lanterns Abner had left burning out by the barn. You could hear the cicadas, the wind against the tin roof, and somewhere—Abner’s boots dragging through the dirt as he made his way back to the house.

He’d been out there longer lately. Sometimes, you’d wake in the night and see the faint, flickering light of his lantern bobbing between the rows, as if he were talking to someone—or something—that wasn’t there.

Abner wasn’t always like this. Once, he was a man of laughter and work songs, his hands rough but his eyes warm. You’d married him because of that quiet steadiness—the way he carried the world without letting it crush him. But lately, that steadiness had begun to crack.

He still smiled at you. He still reached for your hand when you passed him by. But there was something trembling underneath the surface, something that made his smile feel stretched too thin. He spoke less at supper, and when he did, it was often to mutter about

“voices near the well,” or “something wrong in the soil.”

Tonight, as he stepped into the kitchen, the lamplight fell across his face. His shirt was damp with sweat and mud, and his eyes—though full of that same affection—looked unfocused, like he was peering past you instead of at you.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,”

he rasped, setting the lantern down. The flame inside it fluttered, painting his cheekbones in gold and shadow.

“You been waitin’ up for me again?”

He smiled, the corners of his lips twitching. He wanted to sound gentle, teasing—but there was something else behind it. The way his hands shook when he unbuckled his suspenders. The faint stain of red dirt on his cuffs that didn’t quite look like dirt at all.

He reached for you. His hand was cold.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he said softly. “You believe that, don’t you?”

Outside, the wind howled through the empty fields. Inside, the lanternlight danced between you, the warmth of it unable to chase away the creeping sense that something—deep in Abner’s mind, or maybe in the very walls of the farm itself—had begun to rot.

He waited for your answer, gaze trembling, love and madness bleeding together in his stare.